


Princeps Infernum

by Electakyu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Angst, Artistic License, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Death, Demon!Dean, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gore, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Fluff, Multi, Murder, Prince of Hell Dean Winchester, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Torture, Violence, deanmon, demons as vampiric beings, demons getting off on killing i guess?, i'm going to tag it anyway, one brief mention of pedophilia, sam and dean winchester hate each other, some consensual stuff does happen too i promise, there might be fluff at some point but it's mostly angst tbh, time works weirdly in hell, yeah demons are gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-04-26 19:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14409444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Electakyu/pseuds/Electakyu
Summary: Heaven is locked, with the angels trapped inside, and with no way of knowing how long it'll be closed Dean makes a deal with the King of Hell.Immortality until Heaven is opened, in exchange for servitude.But with every new day, Dean falls further and further into his demonic role. Torn between his unbreakable bond to Crowley, and his loyalty to those left in Heaven and on Earth, how will Dean survive?





	1. Prologue - Summon

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as my Camp NaNo 2018 challenge, and have 4 chapters ready to go. Planning to have them up regularly so please hang in there. :)
> 
> I ended up getting a bit artistic with how demons work in this story, and while it's not how things work in canon I really enjoyed it so I hope you will too!
> 
> Warnings for Prologue - Summon: blood, optimistic nihilism?

Dean’s lips closed around the last word of the spell. The hairs sprang up on the back of his neck and the room temperature plummeted. He was no longer alone. 

“Hello, love. Long time no see.”

“Have you had time to think through my offer?” 

Dean’s voice was stone cold. If Crowley could shiver, he would have. It was a risk coming here alone, and the sharp edge to Dean Winchester’s expression scared him. More than just a little. 

Crowley spread his arms, an empty smile on his face. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

He walked over to Dean, slowly. 

“Just so I know I have this right … You want me to make you a demon. You’ll do my bidding without question. And in return…”

“In return, when heaven unlocks again you let me go.”

“I can go better.” Crowley had drawn almost level to Dean now. He stopped, clasping his hands behind his back and lifting his chin. The light from the candles danced in his eyes as Dean chewed over his words. 

“How so?”

“I can un-demon you. Even offer you protection from all the infernal beings of Hell.” 

“Why do I feel like you’re about to screw me over?” Dean crossed his arms and clenched his jaw. “What do you get out of it?”

“I won’t make you a regular demon who can hide away and do the minimum dirty work. You’ll be a Prince, ruling beside me … and slightly below me. In ranking, I mean.” 

Dean gave a mirthless chuckle. “I don’t know why I expected less. You have a deal.”

“You understand what that means.” It wasn’t a question.

“You mean torturing people, burning the Earth, letting no sinful soul have peace nor rest?”

“It’s almost like you read it out of the manual.”

“I get the gist. I’ve read the Bible. And did you forget? I’ve been the tortured and the torturer before.” 

A pause. The candlelight made the shadows flicker across both their faces.

“One last thing I want to know, though, before I agree to this … arrangement.” Crowley continued. He walked past Dean and spun around, putting himself between him and the bloody sigil smeared on the wall. “Why?” 

Dean held Crowley’s gaze for a long few seconds, his face a stern mask, the twitching of a muscle in his jaw the only movement. It was like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Without breaking eye contact, he finally answered. 

“Castiel.”

Crowley gave a long, low chuckle. “I see. Your boyfriend’s all locked up so rather than rot away on Earth without him-”

“I live immortal as my worst nightmare until I can see him again. See, I always knew you just really get me, Crowley.”

“Sarcasm is not a good look on you, darling. Less of that when you’re at my command in Hell. What about baby brother?”

Dean bared his teeth and spat at Crowley’s feet. 

“Sam Winchester is dead to me.” 

Crowley frowned. “I don’t think I want to know.”

“You’re damn right you don’t.”

“Well then, there’s only one thing left, and that’s to seal the deal. What do you say?”

Leaning closer to Crowley, Dean braced himself with a hand against the wall. He hesitated.

Just enough to relinquish control to Crowley, who took Dean’s face in his hands. Dean took two quick, deep breaths, as though he was about to dive underwater. Then kissed Crowley firmly on the lips. 

Immediately he felt a surge of power, like he was being filled with electricity. The two hands on his face faded away to nothing and all that existed was the fizzing and sparking inside his head. He heard a throaty growl coming from his own chest, and suddenly the hands were back and he was kissing the King of Hell.

The hands slid down to his neck and started digging in, clawing for a hold in his skin. He didn’t feel it as pain but an absent sensation in a body that wasn’t quite his any more. 

Crowley broke the kiss, to whisper against Dean’s mouth, “If you so much as consider crossing me, if you try to worm your way out of this, I won’t kill you. I will obliterate you.” 

“Good,” was all Dean could manage in response. He didn’t see Crowley’s smirk, because he was kissing him again. He needed to draw more of that power into himself. He was aching for it. The sparking was building and he wanted to find out the conclusion. He needed it.

Dean clutched at Crowley’s jacket to pull their bodies closer. A literal spark flew between them where their noses rubbed together. Whatever Crowley was pouring into him, it was turning from electricity into white noise, and now a high screech, soft at first but growing in pitch and volume.

One of the hands on his neck slid up into his hair. The noise was becoming unbearable, a deafening roar, but he needed more. Blood trickled from his ears. 

More, more, more!

Crowley pushed him away. Dean stood panting, pressing one hand to his head and steadying himself against the wall with the other. The noise subsided gradually. Soon he could hear his own breath coming ragged, and Crowley’s more stable but just as deep. 

He touched his ear and his fingers came away bloody. He opened his eyes.

Crowley gave that long, low laugh again. 

Dean peered back at him, sweat glistening on his forehead. His eyes were black.


	2. Chapter One - King of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean struggles to adjust to his new life as Prince of Hell.  
> Crowley shows his true face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter - for which I'm sorry. A snapshot of Dean's first little while in Hell.  
> I like to imagine what angels and demons really look like so this was fun to write. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: graphic violence, mention of pedophilia, torture

Dean had never forgotten what demons really looked like, but nothing could have prepared him for the King of Hell’s true face.

It was honestly horrible. He used that face only when he was angry, though, and he was almost never angry with Dean.

It had been easy to slip back into the routine of being the soldier, despite his instincts screaming at him to get away, to destroy each demon with whom he crossed paths, to tell Crowley where to stick his deal.

As it turned out, any demon that saw his face fell into line immediately. How easy to keep them in check when the very mention of Dean Winchester had them cowering. His reputation preceded him.

There had been resistance at first, but Crowley soon put that right. He was under Crowley’s protection; any demon who showed him any disrespect would face the dire, painful consequences.

To start with, Crowley had had Dean administer those consequences himself. Becoming the torturer again was like slipping back into a forgotten old coat. It was rotten, but it fit and kept the rain off, so to speak.

After a month or so of slicing along tendons, force-feeding holy water and whispering blindingly painful incantations, there was a feeling of message received amongst the troops.

Dean Winchester was the Prince, and all should kneel before him.

All but Crowley.

Crowley made sure that Dean knew who was in charge. The first time Dean had acted out of line, he’d refused to punish a lower-level demon for a minor transgression. In Dean’s opinion, she needed a dressing down more than a physical punishment, so he’d protested.

Crowley had taken him to a private room and showed his true face. It was horrible. His great horns curved above him like an infernal halo, snapped in the middle where on an angel they’d have met, and they were oozing black.

His face had six jaws, all lined with hundreds of vicious teeth. Where his eyes would be on his human-shaped face, there was only melted skin which shone with some internal iridescence. When he opened his mouths to roar, Dean was met with a thousand eyes peering back at him from the surface of many tongues. His claws dripped with blood, so sharp that when he caressed Dean’s face with one it sliced off the skin.

The wings were the worst, though. They reminded Dean of the angels. Crowley held his low, and they were all bone and charred feathers. When they moved, they rattled. To Dean, it almost sounded like they were breathing independent of the rest of him.

Crowley only had to show this face once for Dean to decide he would never question an order again. If he’d slept, that face would have haunted his dreams. Following that incident, Crowley tended to give Dean a beating or a dressing down if he felt it was needed, and saved his true hellish anger for those not tied to him by an infernal contract. For the first time, Dean felt grateful for his high position.

* * *

 

In that first year, Dean made a friend. Her name had been Elizabeth when she’d been human, and it was the name she still used now.

Meeting Elizabeth had been Dean’s first clue that Crowley was gearing up for an invasion. She was introduced as Captain. It was Dean’s job to pass her important documents from Crowley’s desk, and a few times she had asked questions about their contents.

From his conversations with the King, Dean was equipped to answer most of them, but it took a few days before he realised that she was helping to set up an army. He kicked himself for being slow to catch on.

When he then tried to wheedle a little more information out of her, she stopped him.

“Your Highness, forgive me but if there’s something the King isn’t telling you, it’s for a reason and I’m not going to question his authority on the matter. Let’s change the subject.”

Dean was surprised, but felt a warmth like respect towards her from that moment.

Crowley found out, of course. When he expressed amusement at the situation, Dean was relieved; he’d been expecting anger.

“Made a friend, Winchester?” he chuckled.

Dean winced at the use of his last name.

“I wouldn’t call her a friend, exactly. She’s still a demon.”

“As are you, or did you forget?”

Crowley placed a hand on his cheek and he flinched.

“Don’t worry, you’ll start enjoying it soon.”

“I remember.”

Crowley withdrew his hand.

“If you need a break, head to Earth for a few days. I might have a task for you up there.”

“Consider it done.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Consider it done …?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Your Majesty.”

“I love how much you hate me,” Crowley grinned.

* * *

He didn’t want to know why Crowley needed Derek Parsons dead. It was easier to stay ignorant.

_Get in, make the kill, get out._

Maybe stop and get some pie and some decent coffee for once before heading back.

Derek Parsons lived alone in a small apartment in a small town. It was almost too easy to break in. The lock on the window was weak, one pop with the elbow and it buckled.

The guy was sitting at his computer in the bedroom. Not for long. He ran for the door as soon as he glimpsed Dean at the window but Dean was superhumanly fast.

He was built for the chase now.

He stopped Derek, grabbing him by the arm, gripping so he could feel the blood vessels beneath his fingertips start to burst. He hated how satisfying a feeling that was.

“Hey, Derek is it?” he said, his voice light.

Derek looked terrified.

“Y-yeah, who wants to know?”

“Nobody special, just my boss. You might have heard of him. He’s the King of Hell.”

Derek Parsons’ face scrunched into a confused frown.

“You mean Satan?” he laughed nervously.

Dean let his eyes flick black.

“Something like that. Any last words?”

“I don’t, I don’t understand. Last words?”

“Yeah that’ll do.”

In a single swift movement, he grabbed Derek’s throat and ripped it away from his body. A pair of shining, cowering eyes peered back at Dean for a moment before the body crumpled. He let it drop to the floor.

_Get in, make the kill, get out._

As he passed the computer, he glanced at the screen. Then immediately wished he hadn’t.

He strolled back over to the corpse, spat on it, then left the way he came.

* * *

“Aww, look at my little Prince all covered in blood splatters,” Crowley cooed when Dean walked into his office. “Went well, I take it.”

“In hindsight I probably should’ve looked in a mirror before waltzing into Seven Eleven looking like I just murdered someone.”

“Yeah, not ideal.”

“Thank you, by the way. For making it an easy one.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Crowley turned back to his paperwork, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“The guy was a pedophile.”

“Was he?” Crowley replied in a disinterested voice.

Dean bit back a retort.

“How did it feel?” asked Crowley after a moment of silence.

Dean considered the question carefully.

“Honestly, I didn’t hate it.”

“Elaborate.” Sharp, dark eyes met Dean’s.

“Why?”

“Because I told you to.”

The shadows behind the desk shifted to show a pair of low-hanging boney wings and a pair of tattered horns. The voice was no longer casual.

“Ok, fine. I felt powerful. Like there was a surge of energy inside me at the moment he died. Then justified when I saw his computer. Angry at him, obviously. Felt like I was built for revenge.”

“See, you’re getting it now.”

Dean grinned in spite of himself.


	3. Chapter Two - Elizabeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is starting to enjoy his position, and has developed a signature torture style.  
> Crowley has bigger plans, though, and it's time he let Dean in on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for kind words and kudos so far! This is a slightly longer chapter, which I hope you'll enjoy. :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: torture, sexual assault

Torturing damned souls was Dean’s favourite part of being a demon. And he was good at it, with the experience he’d gained from his first stint in Hell and his new powers.

The best way to hurt someone, he found, was through incantations. They could cause pain so intense it could drive the person mad in seconds, and he could lift it simply by falling silent.

If he was honest about it, it was fun. Plus, Crowley enjoyed watching him do it, which only ever led to good things.

About a year into his demonship, Crowley had him use the technique on another demon. It wasn’t the first time he’d tortured a demon with it - that had happened about a week in. But it was the first time Crowley had specifically requested it.

He didn’t know the details of the transgression, but responded to the summons. He found Crowley draped over his bed wearing a bathrobe. On the chair beside the bed was a man, naked and tied up with what Dean could only assume were magic restraints.

The man was hissing and spitting like an angry cat, throwing curses between breaths at the King of Hell. Dean paused in the doorway.

“What is this, a sex thing?”

“Not anymore, it’s not,” Crowley replied with venom. “Do me a favour and give this … this … snake a taste of what you can do.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, took a breath and approached the tied up demon. He stretched the muscles in his arms, flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders.

“How do you want it done?” He peered at the demon, who bared his teeth. “I’ve found the perfect spot for injecting holy water that’ll give him pain for days.”

“I don’t need days. A few seconds will be enough. Give him that spell you’ve grown so fond of. Just a little singsong snippet.”

Dean glanced at Crowley, whose face was clouded over. Then he sang a few words, very gently, to the Snake. T

he Snake shrieked in agony then shrank back in the chair whimpering. His chin was tucked down and he was shivering. He dared to flick his eyes up to Dean’s face for just a moment before hurriedly looking away.

“Perfect,” purred Crowley, jumping off the bed to stand beside Dean. “Now take his power.”

Dean frowned. “Take his power? How do I do that?”

A low, long chuckle.

“Same way I gave you yours, of course.”

Realisation smoothed Dean’s face, and still on a high from the incantation he reached out to grab the Snake’s face by the chin. The Snake squeezed his eyes shut. He knew what was coming.

Crowley placed his hand on the small of Dean’s back. No pressure, just touching.

A tiny hesitation on Dean’s part until his eyes flickered black. Then he kissed the Snake firmly on the mouth.

There was a high-pitched ringing that increased in volume by the second. Dean felt a spark of energy filling him up, starting at his navel and rising up until his head was buzzing.

Where Crowley touched him, his skin crackled.

Crowley’s hand crept up his back, following the line of his spine. Onto his neck. Then into his hair, where it stayed for a second until-

“Enough.” Crowley’s voice was soft but commanding.

Dean pulled away from the Snake, who slumped unconscious in the chair.

Unable to stop a deep laugh ripping from him, Dean steadied himself with a hand on the bed frame.

Crowley gave his hair a last stroke before moving away to the door.

“Come on, we have work to do. I’ll have someone deal with…” He gestured at the sleeping Snake.

He took Dean to an empty meeting room about three floors down and left him there, returning a little while later fully dressed. He was accompanied by three other demons, including Elizabeth.

They chatted lightly for a few minutes until several more soldiers turned up, then Crowley began the meeting.

“You are the newly formed Elite team,” he said without ceremony, hands behind his back, looking each demon full in the face one at a time while he spoke.

His shadow had broken horns and low hanging wings.

“You have been selected to complete some very important missions. The first begins today. We are in need of a new base in the Kansas area. You will visit three locations that I have personally earmarked as possible options, investigate them and report back. The Captain-”

Elizabeth stepped forward, chin up.

“-knows the criteria I’m looking for. She and the Prince …”

Crowley’s gaze fell deliberately on Dean, who adjusted his posture. The look lingered long enough to make all present turn their eyes to him.

“She and the Prince,” Crowley continued, “will be in a diner selected for its exactly equal distance from all three possible bases. You will be discreet and draw no attention to yourselves as anything other than what you appear to be. Report to the Captain, then return to your usual duties. Dismissed.”

Everyone filed out in silence, except Elizabeth and Dean.

“Dean, I want you to observe and take in everything you can. I suspect there’s someone amongst these Elite who want to betray me. I’m sure you know me well enough to know how that makes me feel.”

“Like a jackass?”

“Not the word I would have used. What I want you to do, my little Prince, is find out who our Judas is. If you’ll forgive the metaphor.”

He grinned wickedly, and Dean stifled a chuckle.

“Your Majesty’s presence will assist me in keeping our men in check, as well,” Elizabeth offered.

“Cool, glad I’m actually useful here.” Dean did a finger gun gesture and regretted it immediately as Elizabeth stared back at him blankly.

He could have sworn Crowley muttered “dork” as he turned to leave.

* * *

It felt bizarre to be back in Kansas, and in such an unusual context.

Dean wondered if he recognised the places they stopped at - the potential new bases. He felt too removed from them to feel anything more than curiosity.

Earth wasn’t his home any more.

The diner Crowley had him and Elizabeth hunker down in was rather pleasant, as far as diners go. The waitress was sweet and cheery, and brought free coffee with Dean’s cake because “your smile just lit up my mornin’, sunshine.”

He ploughed through his first slice of coffee cake and ordered a piece of the chocolate. Elizabeth sat sipping water.

“You should order something or it’s going to look suspicious,” Dean said, waving his crumb-covered fork in her direction.

“I don’t care much for junk food. Besides, who’s going to suspect anything from me not eating?”

“Trust me, I’ve done hundreds of stakeouts in diners like this. You’d be surprised how many people thought we were cops laying low from us not ordering like normal people.”

Elizabeth tutted, but eventually relented and got a steak and salad.

“So tell me about him. Your brother. I’ve heard a lot about The Winchesters but not much about the individuals, you know?”

“Wow, small talk? That steak’s gone to your head,” Dean teased.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t want to talk about my brother.”

“Does he have anything to do with why you became a demon?”

“Did Crowley tell you to ask me that?”

“No!” She looked genuinely offended. “I’m just curious. His Highness keeps you an arm’s length away from the rest of us and this is my chance to … get to know you.”

She looked down at her plate, trying to his the slight blush that Dean had already noticed anyway.

“I don’t want to talk about my brother,” Dean repeated, more gently.

Elizabeth looked up. “Fair enough. Then tell me about the King. What’s he like?”

“He’s a sarcastic bastard.”

Elizabeth laughed heartily at that, throwing her head back and exposing her throat, which Dean had a sudden intense urge to rip out.

The feeling passed as quickly as it had come, but it put him on edge. His instinct was to kill her, and that wasn’t something he was inclined to take lightly.

She asked a few more questions about Crowley, which Dean responded to cautiously. Seeing his discomfort, she apologised for probing.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that usually his consorts disappear after a few weeks and you’ve been around for over a year so I-”

“Consort? I’m not his consort,” Dean interrupted, indignant. “Is that what he tells people?”

Elizabeth looked alarmed. “No, no! I just assumed … I mean, clearly I was wrong to … It’s just, the way he watches you when you’re not looking … Your Highness ….” She floundered, then let her words trail off, biting her lip and looking down into her now empty plate.

Dean hadn’t seen the Captain this flustered before, and a pang in his gut told him that this was the genuine face behind the serious mask she usually wore. He wasn’t impressed.

And he’d be having a few sharp words with Crowley later, he was sure. Well, that would probably end in pain but there was no way he was biting his tongue over this.

With impeccable timing, the first group of three demons came to join them.

The base was no good. It was abandoned but up for auction soon so it wouldn’t be unoccupied for as long as they were going to need it.

Dean scrutinised their expression and words, but couldn’t spot anything that could be considered a red flag.

Faced with an uncomfortable silence when he and Elizabeth were once again alone, Dean was relieved when the next group stopped by only minutes later.

The Captain scolded them for not leaving enough time between them and the previous group, but she brightened up when they told her about the building’s credentials. Sounded perfect.

It was unoccupied, unkempt, just far enough out of town to be out of sight but close enough for a quick commute should anything be required.

The three demons shook hands with the Captain and the Prince before they left, which Dean found strange in itself, and he noticed that one - named Elijah? - had slipped Elizabeth a scrap of paper, which she pocketed.

He carefully held his face to hide the way his stomach churned. It was Elizabeth.

The third group, again, said that their potential base more or less checked out and showed no signs of anything unusual, though they also shook hands before leaving.

Dean chucked back the last of his coffee and went to pay the bill.

“How did your date go?” the cute waitress asked, with a glowing smile.

“More like a business meeting. Didn’t go how I expected, that’s for sure,” Dean muttered to her.

“You poor lamb. Still, you must have a full stomach after all that cake! That’s something.”

“Sure is. Some of the best cake I’ve had all year,” Dean replied with a smile.

“Bless your heart. I baked them myself, you know.”

“You’ve got a talent for it. Have a good day, sweetheart.”

“You too, darlin’.”

* * *

Crowley tried to fathom what Dean was thinking as the soldiers left the meeting room.

The Prince’s face was an impassable mask, the only movements his nostrils flaring with each breath, and the muscle twitching in his jaw.

The Captain looked pleased, as she should. They had two options for a new base of operations, and Crowley intended to occupy them both. She’d done good work.

He settled himself in a chair across the table from Dean, and held his gaze for a long few seconds before asking his burning question.

“So, did you find out who our traitor is?”

Dean didn’t speak, but broke eye contact to glance at Elizabeth.

“Yes,” he answered finally. His voice was barely more than a whisper, and this made Crowley’s chest tighten.

He remembered from the time before Dean had been a demon, a serious Winchester was a terrifying force of nature. Thankfully, this time he was on Crowley’s side. He hoped.

“Do tell.”

“Elijah,” said Dean.

Crowley saw Elizabeth’s eyes widen. His heart thumped at the realisation that Dean wasn’t finished.

“And?” Crowley pressed, knowing what the reply would be.

“And Elizabeth.”

Faster than the eye could follow, Crowley placed himself in front of the door, and Elizabeth almost ran into him as she tried to escape.

In less than an instant, Dean put himself behind her so she was sandwiched between them.

“And Elizabeth,” Crowley echoed.

He stepped forward, forcing her backwards into Dean’s arms. Crowley shot him a look and hoped he’d catch the meaning.

He did. In a fluid movement, he had the Captain’s arms pinned behind her back and was murmuring his incantation in her ear.

Her lips were pressed together in a tight line but she made no sound.

“Stop,” Crowley said. Dean fell silent and looked at him, waiting for instruction. “Bring her to my suite. I’m going to pay a little visit to our friend Elijah.”


	4. Chapter Three - Consort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Elizabeth's betrayal, Dean confronts Crowley with some questions of his own.  
> To relieve his stress, Crowley takes Dean for a night on the town to show him what kind of fun demons can get up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: torture, strong language, blood, sexual activities, sexual violence, demons being demonic, alcohol, violence/murder

Elijah’s lifeless form sprawled across the floor at the foot of the bed. Elizabeth, chained to the chair, was staring blankly at him, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. She was silent, her breathing even, but she was close to being broken. They just needed to push her a bit more to find out.

Crowley paced slowly in front of Elizabeth, cradling a dagger engraved with enochian characters in one hand. He stopped suddenly and looked over at Dean, who had one hand on the bottle of holy water in his thigh holster.

Dean tried to read his expression, but he just looked like thunder. Like he wanted to show his true, horrible face.

“Elizabeth,” Crowley began, each syllable carefully pronounced. “Are you ready to tell us the plan?”

She just gazed up at him, mouth turned down.

“Who else was involved?”

“Nobody,” she whispered.

Quick as lightning, Crowley’s knife was pressed against her cheek. His face was starting to turn, his wings now manifested instead of being shadows.

“I think she’s telling the truth,” said Dean. Crowley’s head snapped round, his eyes wild, but his features softened a little when he saw that Dean was serious.

“Very well. Let’s say you are telling the truth. I’m still left with one question. I don’t like being left with questions, do I Dean?”

“No, Your Majesty. You don’t.”

Dean’s heart was starting to race at the thought of taking her power. Elijah’s was coursing through him, and standing still was an effort. But he was enjoying watching Crowley do the torture for once, seeing the master at work.

Not that he would have told Crowley that, but still.

Her betrayal felt personal. She’d feigned befriending Dean to get close to the King, from what they could gather so far. All that was left was …

“Why?” The word left Crowley’s lips as a hiss.

Elizabeth swallowed, flicking her eyes up to the ceiling.

“We …” She sighed, then flinched as Crowley shifted his posture slightly. “We wanted the Prince out of the way.”

The resignation on her face said that she knew she’d just signed her own death warrant.

“We planned to kill him so I could take his place beside the throne.”

“I don’t understand,” Dean said, taking a step towards her. She avoided looking at him.

“I wanted to be his consort. I didn’t realise that wasn’t …” She trailed off, and finally met his eyes. Hers were filled with apology. He felt stupid for not realising.

Crowley exhaled heavily and walked away from her. He gave Elijah a kick.

“And him?”

“My brother, when we were human.”

Dean’s stomach lurched. Her brother, willing to kill so she could be the King’s consort. How selfless, for a demon.

Crowley scoffed. Then, before Dean could see what he was doing, he had a hand at Elizabeth’s throat.

“Do you mind if I take this one, love?” Directed at Dean.

“Not at all, I think it’s fitting.”

Crowley smirked, and leaned in to kiss Elizabeth.

She gave a little squeak, motionless for a second, then started to struggle against her chains. It wasn’t long before she went limp and Crowley stepped away, filled with the power he’d drained from her.

His eyes were the blackest black, his wings fluttering behind him with a coarse rattle that sounded a bit like they were breathing.

Is that how I look? Dean thought suddenly. Flushed, hellish, terrible. Beautiful in a devastating, heart-stopping way, like the lion going in for the kill.

Crowley and Dean locked eyes for a long moment, both breathing raggedly, A wisp of grey smoke poured out of Crowley’s mouth and he smiled.

“Delicious,” he said, eventually. His eyes fluttered shut then opened again their usual ripple of green and brown.

* * *

 

It was a couple of weeks after that that Dean managed to get Crowley on his own again for an overdue “chat”. Over the last few months, they’d taken to playing cards, together with another few demons, whom Crowley had subjected to severe questioning after the Elizabeth incident.

They were about due another game, now, and Dean was looking forward to it as a stress reliever. Getting things in order for the new bases was hectic, especially now he was missing a Captain.

Crowley had a games room set up. Usually it was filled with a thin fog of cigarette smoke and today was no exception, the scent of the smoke mixing with that of their various alcoholic drinks to create an atmosphere not unlike a bar.

The decor was a little more luxurious though. Each player had a leather armchair around the table. Chandeliers cast a dim, flickering light over proceedings. Everyone was in a suit or cocktail dress. Rather a classy affair, Dean thought.

The game went completely in Crowley’s favour, for once. He was notoriously bad at cards, but a gracious loser. He was not, however, a gracious winner, and the other demons left with grumbles and scowls.

Dean remained behind while the King counted his winnings. He was in a good mood. It was now or never.

“Your Majesty,” he began.

Crowley’s heavy eyes glanced up from the pile of winnings.

“May I speak to you as an old friend?” Dean continued, dropping his gaze respectfully.

“Don’t we always speak as old friends?” His tone was light but unsmiling.

“I would never have called you Your Majesty before you made me a demon, Crowley.”

“I see what you mean. Very well, what’s on your mind?”

Dean took a breath and considered his words. This conversation could go one of two ways.

“I’ve been thinking about Elizabeth. Some of the things she said.”

His heart started thumping. Suddenly all he could think about was Crowley’s face as he’d turned around, seeping power that he’d sucked from Elizabeth’s body. Flushed cheeks, hooded black eyes, smoke pouring from his lips.

“Dean-”

“No, please just let me get this out.”

Crowley looked at him in earnest now, card winnings forgotten. He gave a short nod.

“When we were out on mission, she started asking me about myself, about Sam. I didn’t want to tell her too much. Just because she’d been so short with me before. Like she’d told me that she wouldn’t share your plans because you hadn’t told me yourself, even though I was her superior.”

He paused for breath.

“So then she started asking about you, saying that it was a unique opportunity to hear about you. Because your consorts usually go missing quite quickly, she said. Obviously I told her that we don’t have that kind of … relationship.”

He formed the word carefully, leaving a pause after for Crowley to digest. The King looked like he was about to protest but bit it back.

Dean continued, “She got very flappy at that point. I should have known then that there was something more to it. I guess her plan was banking on me being that kind of close to you. And she was totally convinced I was. She even said that you look at me a certain way, that she’d been certain.

“So naturally, I’m left with a whole bunch of questions. And you’re not the only one who doesn’t like being left with questions.”

Crowley crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling. Very softly, his voice low, he said, “Then ask.”

“Have you been telling people that I’m your consort?”

To his surprise, Crowley laughed. “Of course not. People infer. I mean, a King and a Prince, and demons to boot? Remember Queen Victoria? Her Prince, Albert, famously known as her consort? Is this striking any chords? What did you expect?”

Dean felt a blush rising to his cheeks. Of course, that would be the implication.

“So is that why you wanted to make me Prince, and not a lowly demon?”

“I wanted to make you Prince because I trust you.”

“Then what about this … look you give me, supposedly, when I’m not looking?”

“I imagine,” Crowley said, no longer smiling, “It’s very similar to the look you gave me right after I took our former Captain’s power.”

“What, terror?”

“Don’t kid yourself that you were scared of me. When I show you my Kingly face, that’s terror. It goes deep into your eyes, it’s unmistakable.”

He stood, slowly and gracefully. Dean took a step back, his heart racing.

“When I’m freshly filled with power, oh you should see your face. That’s not terror, old friend.”

Dean knew the answer, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “What is it, then?”

Crowley’s eyes flashed black. “Lust.”

There was several heartbeats’ silence between them before he continued. “Don’t be afraid of it, love. You’re a demon. It’s healthy.”

Dean’s lips pressed together in a tight line and he managed a nod. A deep breath and steady exhale.

“One last question. How likely is it that it’ll happen again?”

“Me beating you at cards? Extremely.”

“No. Someone trying to get rid of me to get close to you.”

“Why, jealous?”

“Look, if you’re not going to take this seriously-”

“Oh, I am. Deadly seriously.”

“Then stop being a dick and answer the fucking question.”

Crowley squinted, and Dean could see him holding back his response. After a moment, he replied.

“It’s extremely likely that it’ll happen again. But we’ll be prepared. I have eyes and ears everywhere and you have good instincts. Better instincts even than I. So it’s not for you to worry about.”

Dean let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

“You’re a demon,” Crowley repeated. “I suggest you enjoy yourself. Once you’re back with the angels, or the humans, you won’t be able to go wild like you can here. Let your hair down. It could be the last chance you have.”

Dean chuckled dryly, gesturing around the games room. “I have been trying, y’know.”

“Not very hard. Tell you what,” Crowley drew up to him. “Let’s go on a jaunt. The killing and the torturing is but one perk of this infernal existence, I think it’s time I showed you the rest.”

* * *

 

Crowley’s idea of a jaunt started, of course, in a bar.

It was his favourite bar in England, a dingy modern place called The Golden Stag. Apparently it had begun life as an old-fashioned pub, but had fallen into disrepair and the owners struggled to keep it afloat. It was bought up by a multi-national company who kept the name and nothing else.

Back home, they’d probably have called it a dive bar. The floors were sticky and none of the glasses matched. The chairs were all different too, and a garish rug was thrown down here and there.

The music was a little too loud to speak to each other without raising their voices, which was how Crowley liked it.

They started with a bottle of vodka each. The barman was reluctant to hand them over, but Crowley had flashed his eyes and whispered something. After that he’d left them alone with their alcohol.

Dean was all smiles. He’d given himself over to one night of fun, just one, since they were out of the hierarchy of Hell. He felt freer, and Crowley had told him they were out “as old friends” to continue the theme of the evening.

Dean felt at ease. The tang of the vodka was tolerable to his demonic tongue, and the alcohol didn’t start to affect him until he reached the bottom of the bottle.

* * *

 

Jade pulled Alex along by the arm. She was starting to get a little beyond tipsy, and desperate for a smoke, so they beelined for the smoking area just outside the Golden Stag.

They’d been flirting for weeks, the “will they won’t they” of their group, and Jade was sure tonight was the night. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but he was giving her the vibes. She pulled her hair over her shoulder to flash him some skin at her neck.

The smoking area was empty except for two men, one of whom was sitting on a picnic table and the other standing beside him.

They seemed a little bit odd. The younger-looking had a leather jacket and ripped jeans, not at all the usual clientele of the Stag - which tended to be full of students - and the older was in a dark suit. They weren’t speaking to each other, but kept passing a lighter between themselves to keep hand-rolled cigarettes alight.

Jade caught the eye of the older, who gave her a slight smile. She smiled back, and managed to drag her eyes away. There was something enticing about them. Whether it was because they looked so out of place …

“Do you have the lighter?” Alex said, suddenly, pulling her out of her reverie.

“Oh, yeah hun. Here.” She fished it out of her clutch and handed it over, before pulling out a cigarette and popping it between her lips. Alex lit it for her.

Jade shivered. It was much cooler outside than she’d expected.

“What d’you reckon?” Alex said, nodding towards the men.

“Ain’t seen ‘em around before,” Jade replied. “D’you reckon they’re on the prowl?”

“Dunno, maybe they’re together.”

The younger one took a swig out of a bottle. Jade couldn’t see what it was. He caught her eye and grinned widely, and she couldn’t stop herself smiling back.

“We should go over there,” she said without thinking, “Offer them a straight cigarette. Roll-ups are horrible.”

Before Alex could stop her she was making her way to their bench, and Alex quickly followed, trying to stick to her quite tightly.

“Evening fellas,” she said. “Fancy a real smoke?”

She offered her cigarette packet and both the men took one. They thanked her, the younger one with an American lilt, the older with a respectful nod to Alex.

After a few minutes of small talk - or was it a few hours? - Jade started to lose track of time. The men both had very hypnotic eyes, and an engaging way of talking. They shared their bottles of alcohol, and before she knew it, Jade was sitting on the younger’s lap.

Dean, he was called. She didn’t catch the other man’s name, but felt like it might have been Crow. It was uttered in reverence whenever Dean addressed him.

Crow was speaking to Alex in a serious tone, but a smile playing on his lips. Their hands were intertwined, and Jade didn’t feel at all surprised by the turn of events.

Dean nuzzled her neck, and she giggled. The cigarettes ran out and they decided to go back to a hotel, the four of them together.

* * *

 

Dean loved being a demon, he decided as he fucked the young Jade into the couch.

He could hear Crowley through the partition, doing something very violent - but apparently pleasurable, judging by the noise - to Alex, who had been particularly susceptible to their demonic charms.

Jade was beautiful to the extent that he was almost bored by it. But she liked having her hair pulled, and she liked the welts that his hands left over her pale body.

When he was done, he left her lying there. She was dazed, with a smile on her face. He used a spell to make her sleep. Just a normal, healthy sleep. She’d need it.

He stood naked by the kettle and made himself a coffee - there were sachets of instant ready and waiting. As he stirred, he let his mind latch on to the sounds coming from the bedroom.

Crowley was talking in a low voice, and occasionally Alex answered with a moan or a gasp.

Without quite realising he was doing it, Dean quietly moved closer to the door. He wondered if he was wearing that look on his face. The not-terror look.

Jade groaned, stirring on the couch. She was coming round. Dean glanced over, saw her sit up and look at him, then he gestured for her to come over, a finger on his lips. He put the coffee down on the side table and pulled her over to the door.

She was grinning, enjoying the game of it. Gasping lightly as Dean smoothed his hands over her hips, she pushed her body flush against his.

They kissed slowly and messily for a while, using the noises from the bedroom to fuel the moment.

Suddenly Jade pulled away, and whispered, “I wanna look.”

She made as though she was going to barge through the doors, but Dean grabbed her arm and shook his head vigorously.

God, the pain he’d be in back in Hell if he interrupted Crowley mid-sex.

But she was determined, and Dean’s curiosity got the better of him. He made sure to hide himself behind the door, though.

“Hello, love,” came Crowley’s voice. “Are you bored of my little Prince already?”

Dean frowned. Bored?

Jade didn’t answer but reached out of the room to take Dean by the arm.

“He wanted to join in too,” said Jade, calmer than he’d heard her all night. Crowley was definitely better at the whole demonic charm thing.

As he was pulled into the room, Dean was unsure of where to look. His gaze first fell on Alex, who lay spread out naked on the bed, his lip bleeding and eyelids heavy, with a happy expression on his face.

Crowley was sitting beside Alex, looking Dean full in the face. With that expression he was now certain he was mirroring.

“I wondered how long it would take you to join us,” Crowley said with a smirk.

Relief washed over Dean, but his heart was hammering. It wasn’t like they’d never seen each other naked, but the context had very much been professional before.

Jade skipped over and climbed onto the bed. Crowley caught her face and kissed her deeply. When he pulled away, there was grey smoke coming out of his mouth.

He made eye contact with Dean and gestured towards Alex with his head.

Dean took that as permission. That Alex beckoned him with a finger was the final push he needed. He approached the bed and cupped the boy’s face.

Alex’s eyes were a sunny brown, and Dean caught himself studying them for a moment. The thin pair of lips that Dean bent to kiss had a metallic tang of blood. The hand that took Dean’s to bring it to his throat was soft and tentative.

The polar opposite of Jade. They’d probably be quite good together. Dean found himself wondering if they were a couple.

He squeezed Alex’s neck lightly and the boy moaned. It was rumbly and throaty, like nothing Dean had heard before, and it struck him right in the gut in the best way.

Jade’s higher-pitched noises, drawn out by Crowley’s expert hands, contrasted in a way that struck Dean as rather beautiful.

As things got heavier, Dean tried not to wonder too much about how to navigate sex with a guy for the first time. He decided to lead Alex into giving him oral, since it was something he was used too.

Seemed like Alex was used to it too. The world outside the room fell away as Dean struggled to think beyond Alex’s mouth.

Jade shuffled over to kiss Alex’s neck, which Dean watched eagerly. Crowley stood to wet his mouth with what was left of the beer from the mini-fridge.

Alex and Jade switched places, Jade’s mouth on Dean and Alex sitting behind her, spreading her thighs with his hands so he could enter her. It looked an awkward angle, so Dean drew back to give them space.

Crowley appeared beside Dean, and placed a hand on his lower back. Dean felt a physical jolt and he turned to peer up at his King.

Crowley’s eyes were black. A glance at Jade and Alex was enough to confirm they weren’t paying attention to the demons. Dean pushed himself up on his knees so their faces were level.

Crowley tucked a hand under his chin, gentle but firm. He rubbed his lower lip with his thumb and Dean felt a warmth spreading from behind his navel. Then the hand slid round into his hair, their noses bumping as they moved closer in unison.

Their lips touched. They stayed unmoving for a second, then Dean sighed. It was like a tension he hadn’t known was within him had been released. He slipped his hands round Crowley’s back and adjusted his face to avoid crushing Crowley’s nose.

Their lips parted, then came back together. Softly and slowly. Their lips parted, then came back together, melting into one another.

Crowley nipped at Dean’s lip with his teeth and Dean lightly dragged his nails down Crowley’s back. They pulled apart, breathing deeply but evenly, and just looked.

Dean saw a pair of black eyes, flushed cheeks, parted lips. A shadowy pair of broken horns. Like the lion going in for the kill.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed as Alex gave a loud groan. Spent, he flopped back into the bed, and Jade rolled over to recline beside him. They watched the two demons intently.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Crowley muttered, his voice coarse. Dean’s gaze flicked to Alex and Jade, then back to Crowley.

“Fuck yeah.”

“The girl first.”

Jade was still smiling sleepily as Dean leaned over her. He placed a hand at her throat and started to dig his nails in. He felt that infernal strength coursing through him, as it always did before a kill.

Blood started to pulse out where he punctured the skin. He drove his fingers in deeper. Jade was starting to gulp for air, her eyes wide with alarm. Dean drew closer and kissed her. Now the deadly intent was there, he could feel her life force draining down his throat. His ears started ringing.

As the noise came to a crescendo he broke the kiss and withdrew his hand. She lay still. Blood pooled around her.

Dean looked over at Crowley, who was part way through the same process with Alex.

As the boy’s body became lifeless, Crowley pulled back a bloody hand and reached towards Dean.

The blood he rubbed on Dean’s cheek was still warm, and not unpleasant.

Dean dared a glance at the form that used to be Alex. The eyes weren’t a sunny brown any more, but demonic black.

“We’ll be seeing him again,” Crowley replied to Dean’s silent question, smirking.

He pushed Dean’s cheek to make him face him, smearing more blood and he dragged his hand to his mouth. Dean took one of his fingers in and sucked it. Then a second.

Crowley’s other hand took hold of Dean’s wrist and pulled it so the blood-covered hand was touching his erection.

Dean licked at his lips sloppily, cleaning the blood that was trickling down his chin. Crowley cupped his face again and moved in for a kiss.

He clenched his other hand around Dean’s and made him stroke slowly, thickening blood mixing with sweat. Soon he broke the kiss to lean his forehead against Dean’s, his breath coming sharp and quick. It didn’t take long before he came.

“Dean-” He cut himself off with a shuddering moan. Dean kissed his neck.

“Does this make me your consort?” he murmured against the skin. Crowley gave a long, low chuckle.

He tugged at Dean’s chin until he was back at kissing level. He pecked him once, then scraped the mixture of liquids from Dean’s hand and smeared them on his bloodstained cheek.

Dean glared at him in disbelief.

“Dude-”

“Shut up.”

Crowley pressed a hand over his mouth. Dean could taste that mix of cum, blood and sweat. He tried to protest, but relaxed into it when Crowley started to reciprocate the handjob.

“Don’t you like me marking you as mine?” Crowley growled.

Dean didn’t dare answer.

“Nod if you’re enjoying it.”

He nodded. Crowley picked up speed.

“Know that you’re mine now, Dean,” he said into Dean’s ear. “My consort, yes. My demon. My creation. My Prince.”

A rough moan ripped from Dean’s lips. He was completely at Crowley’s mercy. And it didn’t take long for him to come, either.


	5. Chapter Four - The Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After ten years of training at Crowley's side, Dean is tasked with leading a battalion in a raid on Earth. The goal: to turn as many humans into demons as possible. The catch: the Hunters know something is going down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far! I've been massively enjoying writing this.  
> The last two chapters are planned but not written so may be some time coming. Please feel free to drop me a comment to nag me to finish, send me an ask on tumblr (castielpunk), or zap me some impatient thoughtwaves. Whatever takes your fancy.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: strong language, violence, sex, demons being demonic

Tomorrow was the big raid on Earth. It had been ten years in the making with meticulous planning.

Dean was stressed. Although the demons followed his instructions to the letter, they weren’t always the most competent. They’d already lost four bases and had to make up the lost numbers by creating more demons.

That was one of Dean’s favourite past-times, and something that Crowley liked doing with him, but time consuming. Between them they didn’t trust even their most senior officers as far as they could throw them, so they had to do it themselves. When the numbers started getting into the thousands, they’d spend weeks on Earth finding and producing the right candidates.

Around this time, these hunts and card nights were the only times Dean and Crowley really saw each other. Their relationship stayed professional, except for the occasional post-demon-making tryst. Dean lived for those nights. Metaphorically speaking.

Tomorrow was the big raid on Earth. Dean was stressed. He needed some time with his King.

They found each other eventually, and fell into their familiar rhythm. Crowley needed the release as much as Dean. There was a lot riding on this raid. When they were finished, they both ached all over - Dean even bruised and bloodied in places - but they felt better.

It wasn’t often they so much as small-talked after sex, but tonight they lay in Dean’s bed in each others arms, just feeling each other breathing. Crowley kept dropping kisses onto the top of Dean’s head.

Without warning, Dean felt a sharp tug, like a hook in the back of his neck.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. He jumped up and started throwing his clothes on.

Crowley made an indignant noise.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m being summoned.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

The tugging was getting sharper and more persistent. Dean hopped about trying to put on a sock.

“Who would be trying to summon you? Nobody knows you’re here!”

“Unless it’s-”

Dean’s surroundings shifted. No longer in the decadent apartment suite, Dean felt a chill in the air.

The walls were damp, the room dark. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Demon trap. The bare wooden floor was rough against his one exposed foot. There were candles all round, making the shadows dance. A figure moved in the doorway. Dean recognised him.

“Sam Winchester.”

It came out as more of a growl than he intended, but it was effective. Sam hesitated before stepping into the candlelight.

“Dean.”

“Make it snappy, Sam, I’ve got big fish to fry tonight.”

“So I hear.” He looked tired. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, making sure to turn them black. He waited silently for Sam to continue.

“Word among the hunters is that there’s something big going down tomorrow. You’d know something about that.”

“Haven’t spoken in what, ten years?”

“Twenty.”

“Haven’t spoken in twenty years, and the first thing you want is inside information? What makes you think I’d know anything? And what makes you think I’d tell you, after what you did?”

Sam flinched. He took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I could kill you,” he said finally, “I know Crowley’s still big man downstairs, and knowing him he’s got you in some high-ranking position. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Dean puffed out his chest and lifted his chin. WIth some effort, he made the candles flare up. Sam stood steady, but Dean could see he was shaken.

“I’m the Prince of Hell. You could kill me. It would take some effort, but you could do it. Then do you know what would happen?”

Sam didn’t reply.

“Do you?” Dean repeated, in a dangerously low snarl.

A single shake of the head.

“The demons wouldn’t touch you, except to restrain you. Then they’d make you watch while they ripped your child apart. Little baby boy, isn’t it? Little Bobby Winchester? Oh yeah, I keep my ear to the ground too.

“Then, they’d kill your wife. In the most gruesome way you could possibly imagine. More gruesome, even. Stuff you wouldn’t even read about in horror novels.”

He let Sam digest that, his face a mask.

“Do you know why your wife and son are safe? Because I said so. No me? No safety.”

Dean could see Sam’s jaw working.

“Fine. I won’t kill you. But by whatever kindness that’s left in you, whatever made you give protection to my family-” His voice was shaking. “-Tell me, what’s happening tomorrow. So I can give my men a fighting chance.”

“Not a hope in Hell. There’s no kindness in me. I got you protection so you’d leave me the fuck alone. And God knows, it’s more than you deserve.”

“Castiel-”

“Castiel has nothing to do with it!” Dean couldn’t stop his voice rising.

“It was you who betrayed the plan. You who got him taken from me. You who got him locked away. For good. You’re the reason I’m a demon, Sam. Because I couldn’t die knowing that I could see him again in an eternity.”

“You’d wait an eternity for Cas, for some angel we’ve known a few years, but you’d leave your brother to rot on Earth alone?”

“Castiel isn’t some angel.” It came out as a whisper. “And you’re not my brother.”

Judging by his face, Sam had known that was coming.

“And like this, you’re not mine.”

Dean laughed at that. It was true, he was nothing like the Dean he’d been all those years ago. He was the Prince of Hell.

“If that’s everything ....” Dean said after catching his breath.

Sam took a few steps closer. Slow but purposeful.

“It’s not. I want you to understand, I wasn’t betraying you.”

“I don’t care, Sam.”

“I care. I care what you think of me, and I care that you did this-” He gestured at Dean. “-to spite me. I didn’t do it to betray you. I was doing what was best. For the greater good.”

“I know, and that’s what hurts. That you don’t think the greater good is doing the right thing for our family.”

“It was bigger than us, Dean.”

“No!” Dean shouted. “It wasn’t. We needed you. And you broke us apart. And not just us. You got Heaven sealed up. Earth is without angelic protection. Oh boy, did you fuck up on that one. Are we done here?”

Sam was almost panting, jaw clenched. He stared at the demon who used to be his brother.

“Fine. You can go.”

He broke the trap by scraping his shoe across it. Then left without a word.

Dean slid to the floor, shaking. He took a few moments to steady his breathing.

God, he hadn’t thought about Sam or Castiel in all this time.

Castiel.

What would he think of me now? Of what I’ve become?

Was it worth it for the chance to see him again in a thousand years? What if he doesn’t want to see me?

A Prince of Hell and an angel. It’s laughable now that I’m thinking about it. More likely he’ll try to kill me.

Dean’s thoughts spiralled as he hugged his legs to his chest. He let them.

And when they’d run their course, he returned to Hell.

* * *

“So what was that about?”

Crowley was still curled up in Dean’s bed, a book propped open in his hand.

“Sam. He wanted to know what’s going down tomorrow.”

“What did you tell him?”

“To go to Hell, Your Majesty.”

“Well done. That must have been difficult.”

“I wish it had been.”

Silence hung in the air between them.

“I want to be alone tonight,” said Dean after a moment.

Crowley studied him over the top of his book.

Sun Tzu - The Art of War.

Then, deliberate in his movements, he put down the book, climbed out of the bed, and walked over to Dean. He tucked a finger under his chin.

“Be ready.”

He vanished in a wisp of black smoke.

Dean let out a shuddering breath.

He sat at his desk and started pouring over the documents strewn there, to take his mind of it all and to prepare for the raid.

The time came before he knew it and his head was back in the game.

He was to lead a battalion in mainland US, since he knew it so well. They’d meet at the Kansas base, an abandoned house they’d found on his first scouting trip.

Suddenly, for the first time in a long time, he thought of Elizabeth. He couldn’t afford any dissent today.

The air in Kansas was clear and fresh. And cold, thanks to the presence of a hundred demons. The Hunters would know soon enough what they were faced with. It would be hard to keep this quiet for very long.

Dean positioned himself just inside the door, so he could count the demons as they arrived. When they were all there, he approached the group to address them.

“Demons of Hell,” he began, “Today is a big day for us. You all know what is at stake. You all know what is expected of you. The more we kill today, the greater the reward when we return.

“Think of today not as a killing spree, but a carefully orchestrated assault. Stick to your given instructions, and we’ll have no issues. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” chorused the demons.

“Make your preparations. We move out in thirty minutes.”

He moved from cluster to cluster of soldiers, checking their equipment and giving them reassurances.

Some were in very high spirits, laughing and showing off their guns and knives.

Others were afraid. They were the ones who’d heard the rumours. The Hunters are on to us.

It was Dean’s job to make sure as many of them came back as possible. While they’d be bringing a lot of fresh meat back, this was an elite group, and further attacks would depend on having as many of them returning as Dean could manage.

He took his small group to Cherryvale, where they would be beginning the assault.

There was a public library, their target. At this time there was a class happening, so there were plenty of humans in a contained space.

Get in, make the kill, turn them, get out.

Then they’d move on to the next town, and keep going until the Hunters caught up with them.

Dean gave the signal and his soldiers stormed into the library. He knocked out the receptionist himself with a short spell, turned him with a quick kiss, and caught up with the rest at the meeting room.

As soon as he walked through the doors, Dean could see they’d made a crucial mistake.

The class taking place was a lesson on the occult. There at the front was unmistakably a Hunter, who was halfway through demonstrating how to draw an anti-possession symbol.

But, they weren’t ready. They hadn’t expected the demons to come in daylight. Good.

There was a flurry of action as the demons started taking down the humans. Dean made a beeline for the Hunter, who had a bottle of Holy water ready in hand.

He flicked some at Dean, who hissed as it bubbled the skin around his eyes.

But he was a Prince of Hell, and that wasn’t going to stop him.

He caught the Hunter by the throat and slammed him against the wall. He wriggled against Dean’s grip, but Dean was inhumanly strong.

He squeezed, the Hunter clawing at his hand, and started to feel the pipes caving in. The moment he sensed the Hunter starting to droop, he pressed a kiss to his mouth and breathed grey smoke into him. Demon power.

The Hunter dropped, lifeless. His eyes were black.

“17 down, 15 turned!” someone called from within the room.

“18 down, 16 turned,” Dean corrected. “Did we lose anyone?”

“No, sir.”

“Good job, team. Move out.”

* * *

At sunset, Dean’s full battalion was closing in on Lawrence. Their target was a hospital - if they took the hospital they could move out and take the rest of the city.

A soldier with an elderly woman for a vessel began the infiltration. She pretended to need help, then took down the reception team swiftly and efficiently. Dean was impressed, but didn’t have much time to dwell before he needed to move the rest of the team in.

Taking the hospital was grueling, and long. It seemed at first like it would be nothing. All the sick people, ready to be turned and helpless to stop it.

But the Hunters showed up.

A much larger team of them than anticipated. Not quite the numbers of the elite demon group, but nevertheless it was a problem.

For every ten humans they turned, they lost a demon. Soon it was every five.

Dean quickly figured out the leader of the Hunter group, a nimble young witch girl who barked orders like a seasoned leader. She must be older than she looked, Dean mused, as he crept up behind her in the fray.

She whipped around, hissing a spell that made Dean’s insides feel like they were on fire.

He jumped back and spat his own incantation. The witch shrieked and doubled over. Two Hunters heard her and turned around, squaring up to Dean.

He batted them away with a wave, eyes set on the witch. She deftly threw a bottle of holy oil at him as she straightened up and

“Motherfucker!” did that hurt!

  
It sizzled in his eyes, blurring his vision. He lunged at the witch, who danced back out of reach.

Placing herself in a corner against a wall.

In a flash, Dean placed himself in the way of her escape, pressing her against the wall with his arm. She spat.

Dean used his free hand to grab her face, squeezing so her lips pursed.

“G-”

He loosened his grip so she could speak. Letting someone have their last words was only good manners.

“Gabriel!” she gasped. It was a prayer.

Dean laughed, his nose wrinkling between his brows.

“There’s no angels here to help you anymore, sweetheart. You’ve got me to thank for that.”

“Fuck you!” she shouted, straining against his hold.

“I’ll pass,” said Dean. He blew black smoke into her lungs and she died a demon.

Whipping around, Dean could see that the demons were on the way to a win, at last. The hallway was clear, and the sounds of the fight were getting fainter and fainter.

He sprinted along the hall, glancing into each room as he passed. No hunters left. Some humans, but they were being taken care of. A few dead demons littered the way, but they’d turned the battle around.

They’d taken the hospital. They’d taken Lawrence.

* * *

It was almost midnight on Earth by the time Dean had finished zipping around to check on his battalion. After the hospital, they’d split up to take more of the city. It was almost midnight by the time he was satisfied they’d done enough.

He ordered the troops to return to base, and stood at the door counting them in. Heavy losses, but it could have been much worse. Ultimately, Dean was proud of what they achieved.

He felt a stab of sadness when he saw the elderly-lady-vessel demon didn’t make it.

“Speech!” someone called out.

“Quiet!” Dean responded reflexively.

The gentle babble died away. All eyes on the Prince.

“We suffered some losses today. Although none of us are good men, we are fuckin' demons, after all-”

Some whoops, and Dean raised a hand to quiet them, a smile playing on his lips.

“-there were good soldiers out there on the field that won’t be coming back to Hell with us. But I’m proud of each and every one of you for your bravery, trickery and the sheer demonic power you all showed. We’ve made up more numbers in new recruits that I had dared to hope we could.”

There was a smattering of applause, which Dean joined.

“Now you’re all officially off duty until tomorrow, go raise some Hell!”

The battalion cheered then started to disperse.

Dean heard a timid throat-clearing at the level of his shoulder.

“Excuse me, Your Highness.”

“Yes, uh …”

“West, sir. Bill West.”

“Go ahead, West.”

“I don’t want to overstep, sir, but some of us are hitting a strip club before we head back, have some fun, turn some girls, and we wanted to ask if you would grace us by joining the party?”

Dean chuckled at the awkward delivery.

“It would be my pleasure.” His eyes lit up black as he grinned.

* * *

Crowley came earlier than expected with his wake-up call, and Dean still had his dick down Bill West’s throat.

His head was thrown back, and he opened his eyes briefly, when he spotted Crowley standing with one hand on the door handle. He grabbed Bill by the hair and pulled him away, a soft pop announcing the release of mouth from skin.

“Your Majesty,” Dean said, with a cheeky smile.

“Celebrating, are we?” said Crowley, his face thunder.

Bill West didn’t know where to look. Dean stroked his hair and glanced back at him.

“I think I’ve earned a bit of fun.”

Crowley shut the door carefully. “I’d say you have.”

This made Dean’s stomach flutter. He was in that dominating mood that drove Dean to distraction.

Crowley walked to the bed, each footstep deliberately slow. With sparkling eyes, he caressed Bill West’s face, then suddenly gripped him tightly by the neck.

“Get. Out.”

Bill didn’t need telling twice. Without making eye contact with either of them, he scurried from the room, still naked and leaving his clothes behind.

“Crowley-”

“Be quiet.”

Dean sat back on his heels, pressing his lips together. Crowley touched a hand to his cheek and he leaned into it, automatically.

A sharp slap. It left a red mark and almost knocked Dean over. His breath came out in a gasp and his eyes flashed black. Crowley reached to take him by the throat, pulling him forward until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“We have an arrangement, Dean,” Crowley murmured, his voice low and dripping. “I’m the only one who gets you.”

He gave a squeeze and Dean moaned, letting his eyes flick shut.

“You never said-”

“It was implied.” Crowley’s tone was curt now, businesslike. “Do I have to spell it out?”

“Yes, please.” Another squeeze, harder this time, with nails.

  
Crowley considered Dean for a moment, then pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I don’t want you sleeping with anyone other than me, unless I’m there,” he whispered. “And no fucking strip clubs.” He punctuated his speech with squeezes, then released Dean from his grip.

“Do you agree to that?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“We’ve been doing this a long time, Dean. I’m starting to think you’re being deliberately provocative.”

“You know me pretty damn well.”

They took a beat to catch their breath and take each other in.

Crowley leaned over, then, and kissed Dean, almost sweetly, very slowly, his hands soft on Dean’s cheeks. Dean’s hands snaked around Crowley’s waist, dragging his nails up as Crowley pulled him to his feet.

Crowley shivered.

Between them they started to work Crowley’s clothes off, until they were both bare and flush against each other. Then they kissed and nipped and scratched their way back to the bed, where Dean started making his way down Crowley with his mouth.

Beneath heavy breaths, Crowley praised Dean for his good work in the raid. He told him in flowery, extravagant words how pleased he was he’d made him Prince of Hell, then told him all the horrible things he would have done to him if he’d failed, the punishment he would’ve had for the strip club and Billy, if he hadn’t been such a good Prince.

Dean wanted to wash the warmth from Crowley’s words all the way back over him. But before he had a chance, Crowley fell silent and grabbed a fistful of hair. He tugged Dean up, up, until they were parallel in the bed. Pushed him face down into the mattress.

He took a moment to study him, lifting his hips so he was kneeling, ass in the air.

Dean waited patiently, flexing his toes and breathing hard through his mouth. Then without another word, Crowley fucked him.

From the off he was harsh and fast, clawing skin from Dean’s back and slapping him so he could barely think.

As he bunched the sheets in his hands to stop from jolting too far, Dean thought he could hear a familiar rattle, like bones breathing independent from the rest of a body.

He was in this position for what felt like a thousand years, his legs aching to move, his neck bent at an odd angle, unable to touch his erection lest Crowley grab his hands away. But if it was a thousand years, it was the best thousand years of Dean’s life. What sweet torture.

When Crowley came, he did it over Dean’s back, then gave him a gentle push to topple over. Dean gratefully stretched his legs and rolled his shoulders, before Crowley put a hand over his mouth, as he usually did when it was time to finish Dean off.

He kissed Dean’s neck and didn’t stop after he came, moving his hand to let Dean moan. He whispered sweet words followed by threats followed by compliments as he made Dean lick his hand clean.

When he finally let up, Dean just lay back beside him, staring at the ceiling, coming down from his post-sex headspace.

The room back in focus, he rolled over and lazily kissed Crowley on the mouth. The King was only too happy to reciprocate. As he pulled away Dean could have sworn he heard him whisper,

“I love you.”


	6. Chapter Five - Static

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean spirals in the aftermath of Crowley's confession. But their precarious relationship takes a backseat when the sentinels send word of exactly what Dean was dreading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with this update.  
> It's a slightly shorter chapter, because I felt the chapter break fell most comfortably here.  
> Hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: sexual violence, dub-con, graphic violence, murder, strong language.

Dean had picked this girl because her name was Elizabeth. It felt good to do nasty things to an Elizabeth. This one was a redhead, and her mass of perfect curls was damp with sweat, her freckled face squashed against the links of a metal fence in a cold alley, as Dean held her there with one hand.

The flesh of her back was soft and gave way a little to the pressure he exerted. She was almost as tall as he was, with long, thick legs, and a roundness to her figure, which contrasted with sharp, bright features on her face. When Dean had seen her for the first time, he had thought what a terrible sin it would be to utterly destroy something so beautiful, and he couldn’t wait to do it.

Now he was in the midst of it, pressing her against this fence as he fucked her, he felt pretty damn good about his decision. And he hadn’t thought about Crowley all day.

Shit, now he had.

He pulled out of Elizabeth and tugged the end of the rough rope holding her hands behind her back. She stumbled away from the fence with a grunt as she tried to make her legs work. Dean spun her around to face him, and she met his eyes with the blank smile characteristic of the demonic charming spell.

Dean cupped her face with one hand as she leaned back against the fence for support, and absently thumbed the tip of his dick so his arousal wouldn’t completely abate. Elizabeth bit her lip and glanced down to watch.

Noticing this, Dean started to stroke himself fully, and moved his other hand to push on Elizabeth’s shoulder. She dropped to her knees with a thud and a gasp of pain. Weaving his hand into her hair, Dean tilted her head back. She opened her mouth, knowing what he was expecting.

Too easy.

Dean pushed her to the floor and she fell heavily onto her side. Blood was pooling on the ground from the body Dean had discarded in the dumpster. Just an old guy who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The blood, still a little warm but starting to congeal, clung to Elizabeth’s bare skin. As Dean raised her up into a sitting position, he admired how it oozed down her body, forming viscous drops on her breasts, pooling darkly on her belly. Stark brown-red against her pale, freckled face. Matting the hair on one side of her head.

He traced its path down her body with his hand, pausing to smear it over her stomach, then stepped back. He brought his hand to his own face, sniffed the blood, took a finger into his mouth. He masturbated for a little while as he licked his hand clean of blood and watched Elizabeth peering up at him, passionless.

Suddenly, he had her pressed up against the fence again. His eyes flashed black as he closed a hand over her throat. Bringing his face to hers, he took a breath then kissed her. She leaned into it, moaning into his mouth as he pressed a hand between her legs.

When he started to rub her clitoris, she moved her hips for him to find a better angle, just as he let himself flood with deadly intent.

Her lifeforce flowed down his throat as smoke. He released her from the hand that was pinning her back against the fence, reaching down to grip his dick to bring himself to orgasm. The way she twitched suggested to him she was close too, but the last of her lifeforce drained into him before either of them got there.

Dean dropped her, letting her crumple at his feet so he could brace himself against the fence with one hand. He closed his eyes, Crowley’s face swimming through his mind as he came into his hand.

Panting, he bit back frustration. After working so hard to suppress his feelings, they still bubbled up. Couldn’t even enjoy a good old-fashioned demon-jaunt any more.

He cleaned himself up and placed Elizabeth with the old man in the dumpster, grumbling to himself all the while. Time to hit a bar.

He picked one across the other side of the city, because he knew it was run by demons. As he entered, a ripple ran across the room as people deliberately tried not to look up at him while they muttered,

“Prince consort is here.”

Dean rolled his eyes and took a seat at the bar, met with the smiling face of his favourite barman in the city, the very discreet and endlessly accommodating Daisuke.

Daisuke passed him a cocktail, conjuring it up out of seemingly nowhere, without needing to take his order.

“Bad day, Your Highness?” he asked, a caring lilt to his tone.

“That easy to tell, huh?”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, it’s written all over your lovely face.”

Dean’s lips twitched in the closest approximation of a smile he could manage. He took a gulp of the drink and sighed at the burn as it washed down his throat.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Daisuke said, leaning on his forearms on the bar in front of Dean. Dean shook his head. Daisuke leaned a little closer.

“Do you want to _talk_ about it?” He raised his eyebrows and pressed his tongue to his top lip.

Dean opened his mouth to answer but stopped short when Daisuke’s eyes drifted over his head, past him to the door, his face darkening. Suddenly, everyone in the bar started to file out.

With a confused frown, Dean twisted round in his seat.

His stomach lurched. Crowley was weaving his way through the bar, making for Dean with an unfathomable look on his face. Dean turned back to Daisuke, but there was just a swirl of fading black smoke where he’d been stood.

Crowley took the seat beside Dean’s, and Dean downed the rest of his drink. He sat rolling the cup in his hands, not daring to look at the King.

“It’s been a year, and you still won’t talk to me?” said Crowley after a moment, his voice low and dark.

Dean scoffed. “I suggested some distance. You’re the one who freaked out.”

“How else was I supposed to react? You tell someone you love them, you at least expect a thank you. Not to be told to go away.”

“You crossed the line, Crowley. What we had was a professional arrangement.”

“What Daisuke does is a professional arrangement. What we had was not professional in the slightest. For one thing, you never paid me.”

Dean groaned. “Look, I’m not in the mood to have this conversation right now.”

“How predictable.”

“I had a bad day, and I’m not going to sit here and let you make it worse.”

“Getting the wrong flavour of pie for lunch does not a bad day make, love.”

“Fuck you,” said Dean sharply, whirling round on his stool to face Crowley. “I can’t stop thinking about you, no matter what I do. No matter how much I push it aside and try to drown myself in being demonic. I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate it. It sucks the fun out of everything. It makes everything taste just that little bit bitter. I can’t get away from it. Away from you. So fuck you. Your Majesty.”

A burn crept up his cheeks, and he felt ashamed of his sudden outburst. To his surprise, Crowley broke into a grin.

He let Dean simmer in his emotions for a while before he spoke again.

“So where do you want to go from here?”

Dean hesitated before he answered. “I-”

“Your Majesty!”

They both whipped round, to see a demon running towards them from the door.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness. Please forgive me for interrupting but-”

“Spit it out,” Crowley said in his most commanding tone.

“Sorry. We’ve had word from the sentinels. There’s been movement from Heaven. An angel has broken out.”

Dean and Crowley looked at each other, Dean seeing the uncomfortable mix of emotions in Crowley’s face that he was feeling in his own belly.

They spoke at the exact same moment.

“Where?”  
“Who?”

The messenger looked from one to the other, not sure who to answer first.

“Let’s try to be calm about this,” said Crowley, who was very visibly not calm. “Have they broken their lockdown?”

“We don’t think so, Your Majesty. Seems that it’s just one angel who managed to slip through, as it were.”

“Where might we find this angel?”

“I don’t know, sir, but I can find out. It might take a few hours to track him down.”

“We’ll be waiting in my suite.”

“Do you know who it is?” asked Dean, his heart thumping like thunder in his chest.

Crowley glanced at him. Another unspoken question hung in the air, like static before lightning strike.

“No, Your Highness. I’m sorry.”

With a nod from Crowley, the messenger vanished. No further words between the two of them, Crowley and Dean exchanged panicked looks, then simultaneously returned to Hell.

* * *

Not daring to look at Crowley for fear of what he might say, Dean paced back and forth in front of Crowley’s bed. Waiting was painful, and there was nothing they could do to prepare. They were going to go just the two of them to eliminate the angel, since too many soldiers might get in the way.

But Dean’s mind was racing. The angel. His conversation with Crowley. The kind of demon he was becoming. Heaven.

What if Heaven unlocked, and Crowley turned him back human? How could he go back to being human after all this?

And what if the angel …

“You’re worried that it’s Castiel.”

Crowley spat the last word like having it in his mouth stung him.

Dean stopped pacing. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he replied in as even a tone as he could manage.

“Of course I’m worried. I’m still under contract to you until Heaven is unlocked.”

“I’m not going to make you kill him.”

Crowley sounded offended. Dean looked at him, wide-eyed, questioning.

Rising from his reclining position on the bed, Crowley shook out his wings, which hung low and hissed as the bones rubbed against each other. His face was starting to shimmer with an internal iridescence as his human glamour slipped.

“I’m not going to make you kill him,” he repeated, his two horns breaking through his skull to form a broken circle. “I want to do it myself.”

A wave of nausea broke in Dean’s stomach. Hands curling into fists, he took a step towards Crowley, and then another, until their faces were almost touching. Crowley licked his lips, eyes heavy, squaring up.

“And you think when he’s gone, when you’re all I have left, then I’ll love you back?”

Crowley sucked his breath in sharply, his mouth dropping open as he fought with himself over how to respond.

But he didn’t have to. A sudden knock made them both jump, and snap into battle mode.

“Come,” called Crowley.

The door opened a crack, and the messenger demon slipped into the room.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness.” He bowed deeply.

“Well?” Dean’s voice came out wobblier than he would have liked.

“The angel has been located. He’s hiding out just outside Lawrence, Kansas. And we think we have an ID on him as well.”

“Don’t beat about the bush, who the fuck is it?” Crowley snarled.

The messenger seemed to Dean like he was about to shit himself.

“We’re not a hundred percent, Your Majesty, but a sentinel said they recognised him as Gabriel, an archangel.”

Dean gasped, relief surging through him. A glance at Crowley, and he could have sworn he looked relieved too.

“I’ve dealt with Gabriel before. He’s tricky but I know how he operates,” said Dean after a beat.

Crowley dismissed the messenger with a wave of the hand.

“Listen, Crowley-”

“We can talk about it when we get back. The important thing right now is finding Gabriel, capturing him, killing him, torturing for information. Whatever’s necessary.”

“We’ll have to play it by ear,” said Dean, nodding. “But I don’t want to let this get in our way.”

He gestured between the two of them.

“Then focus.”

Crowley vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving Dean feeling cold. He sucked air in through his teeth and shook his head a few times.

Then he followed to Kansas.

* * *

The sun was breaking over the line of the horizon, basking everything in a golden glow. There was still dew on the floor, shadows awash with a pale blue chill, and Gabriel’s breath was coming in visible puffs.

Perched at the edge of a wooded area, he could see a small body of water lazily flowing along at the bottom of the hill, the distant thrum of a road making him lose focus for a moment.

He shook himself. This was no time to get distracted. The Key was nearby.

He could feel it, like a low buzzing vibrating through his vessel, getting more intense the nearer he drew. Casting his gaze about, he wondered almost absently what it would look like, whether he would know it on sight.

The larger part of his mind was occupied with a fear. A fear of demons, who he knew would be coming after him soon, who would know he was weakened by his escape from the prison that Heaven had become. Who were everywhere. Who had had the time and freedom to infiltrate and occupy Earth unchecked.

An unanticipated consequence of the lockdown, and a devastating one.

Gabriel started to make his way down the hill, feet picking up pace before his body could catch up. He slipped and had to fight to catch his footing, the static-like buzzing hurting his ears.

Cool water soaked into his shoes when he reached the stream. The buzzing reached a crescendo and he reached down, more by instinct than reasoning. His hand closed around a pebble.The buzzing halted, jerking Gabriel like a train coming to a sudden stand-still.

The Key.

After pulling it out of the water, he turned it over and over in his hand, trying to work out what made it special. It looked like a standard, boring piece of stone. Grey, with a few streaks of red, probably jasper. No bigger than a peach pit. Fairly smooth.

The red reminded him of someone, though. In his mind’s eye, he saw her face, smiling in moonlight, red hair falling about her like a fantastical waterfall. Her smile dropped. She looked afraid. A hand covered her mouth, as she tried to speak, muffling whatever she’d tried to get out. Away moved the hand, as though its owner was allowing her her last words.

“Gabriel!”

It was her dying prayer, and Gabriel had heard it. He felt its strength even now, through the dull ache of weakened grace. He smiled to himself. Time to find the rendezvous point.

“Gabriel!”

Yes, that had been her prayer, but …

That wasn’t her voice.

Gabriel whipped round, to spot a figure coming through the trees, and tumbling down the hill, looking for all the world like all Hell’s demons were after him.

Gabriel’s eyes took a moment to focus. Then he gasped with recognition.

“Dean Winchester? How did you find me?”

Dean was panting as he reached Gabriel, grabbing his arm to stop himself from falling from the momentum of his run downhill.

“We have eyes and ears everywhere, we’ve had to. What with the demons taking over and all.”

“We?”

“The Hunters. We’ve been organising.”

Dean gave a wicked grin, which Gabriel thought didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Where’s Sammy? He didn't come with you?”

Dean’s smile faltered. “He’s a little busy. Wife, kids. Out of the game.”

“But not you.”

“Not me. Same old, same old.”

He adjusted his grip on Gabriel’s arm. Something about it made Gabriel uncomfortable. He slipped the Key into his pocket, as discreetly as he could manage.

“I … could use your help,” said Gabriel, carefully. “I have an important task, and I need to make a rendezvous point. It’s paramount that I get there unscathed. Would be useful to have a Hunter watching my back so I’m not looking over my shoulder. A Winchester? Even better.”

“Where do you need to go?”

There was something urgent in Dean’s tone that his face was working to not betray, giving Gabriel pause to study him. A frown appeared between his eyes, just a wrinkle at first, then a furrow, until his mind clicked into place what was wrong.

“Dean, you haven’t aged a day since the last time I saw you. It’s been at least twenty years. More, maybe. But you haven’t aged.”

He threw off Dean’s hand from his arm and stumbled backwards a few steps into the stream.

“You’re not human, then. So what are you?” he asked, though he knew the answer already. He felt numb, fight-or-flight instincts starting to kick in.

Dean straightened up, the mask of a smile falling from his face. His skin took on a shimmer of internal iridescence as the veneer of his glamour faded. Two horns curved above his head, white and shining, but broken before they could meet in a circle. He shook out wings, holding them high at his back. They were pale feathered and bloody, hissing from friction as he shook them out. His eyes flickered black.

“I’m the Prince of Hell, baby.”

Gabriel started to run.


	7. Chapter Six - Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The race to find Gabriel begins.  
> Exhausted by the journey, their relationship on precarious ground, are Dean and Crowley prepared for the battle for Heaven?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a long time coming! Life gets in the way of writing sometimes. I'm writing the ending for Camp NaNo so the conclusion will be up by the end of the month (fingers crossed!). As always, your feedback is much appreciated and keeps me going when things get hard. Lots of love.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: violence, gore, death.

Jakarta. Singapore. Baghdad. It felt like they’d been chasing Gabriel for days. No more than a few seconds in each location before they sensed he’d moved on.

Hamburg. Chennai. London. He must be getting tired. After all, his grace was already depleted from his breakout from Heaven.

Houston. Alexandria. Pyongyang. Dean was starting to lag behind, Crowley disappearing moments before he arrived. Soon he’d be lost.

São Paulo. Taipei. Venice. Sydney.  They had to stop to rest soon. They had to stop to rest soon. Gabriel would be stopping to rest soon. Surely.

Yokohama.

There was pressure in Dean’s chest, signalling Gabriel’s presence. Finally, he’d come to a halt.

A sudden voice at his ear startled him.

“He’s hiding, probably to regain some energy. We have to move in now while we have the chance.”

Good to know he’d not lost Crowley, but Jesus did he have to sneak up?

Dean’s heart was thumping, stomach swirling with adrenaline.

“I think I’m gonna have to take a break too, Crowley. I need food.”

“You’re a demon, you don’t need food.”

“I need the ritual of it. I need to sit and breathe. If Gabriel needs to recharge, he could be hours. Days.”

Crowley was silent for a moment, his breath warm on Dean’s neck.

“Fine.”  

Letting out a shaky breath, Dean took in his surroundings.

They were in a dark corner of a brightly lit square. Along one side was what looked like a train station, with hundreds of faceless, besuited people pouring in and out. A road with a large crossing point boxed in two of the other sides, and a shopping mall with steps up to a bridge completed the square.

They decided to follow a group of people to the bridge, which turned out to be an elevated travelator. Dean was trying not to look at Crowley, but couldn’t help noticing his face was pulled into a frown, paler than usual. The hand resting on the travelator was shaking. Dean covered it with his own, briefly, to get his attention.

“Do we have soldiers here?” he asked in a low voice.

Crowley nodded. “Not many, though. Japan wasn’t ever a high priority.”

A few minutes of silence flowed between them, until they came to the end of the travelator. They stepped into the building it arrived at, which turned out to be another mall. Determined to find some food, Dean ploughed ahead through the crowd and hoped Crowley was following.

Aimless wandering didn’t last long, as Dean spotted the Pokemon Center and made a beeline. He could hear a heavy sigh behind him from Crowley, but paid him no mind, smiling to himself as they entered the colourful shop.

Dean took his time browsing the array of Pokemon merchandise, picking something up and putting it down, a tug of nostalgia loosening the anxiety knot in his chest.  

Curiously, he found he could understand all of the Japanese that was written on price tags and such, even the spoken Japanese when he bought a small plush toy - which he tucked into the pocket of his jacket. Not that it translated into English in his head, but he could just … understand it.

A perk of being a demon Crowley had failed to tell him about. Think of all the vacations he could have taken over the years!

With that thought, he asked the girl on the register where they could get some food.

Shocked, she told him that his Japanese was very good. Oh, and there was a McDonald’s on the lower floor.

Dean thanked her, and took Crowley by the arm to steer him out to the McDonald’s. His face was softer than it had been.

Even if he wouldn’t admit it, he needed the break too, thought Dean.   

They ate their burgers in relative quiet, until Crowley cleared his throat.

“If this is the end of …” He hesitated. “I think we should clear the air.”

“Is it too much to ask to not have a chick flick moment? Look, the way I see it, if we stop him before he can do anything with that damn key, we don’t have to clear anything.”

“And if I were to order you to hear me out?”

“Order away, Your Majesty.”

Dean shoved the last of his burger into his mouth and stood, turning his back on Crowley to leave.

Crowley followed him out to the street, where a huge ferris wheel with a clock on it was telling them it was almost nine in the evening. It flashed with different colours, and the spectacle of it along with the fresh, salty scent of the water behind meant that the area was teeming with people.

Dean weaved through the crowd, glancing around as inconspicuous as he could manage to spot Gabriel. But there was no sign of him.

Warmth at his elbow. Crowley was steering him out of the crowd to a grassy spot, and when they got there he said,

“I have questions, Dean. You know how I feel about questions. And you know archangels. This might be my last chance to ask.”

Dean let out a heavy breath through his nose, closed his eyes, nodded. The pressure in his chest was low, so they had time.

“Fine. Let’s talk, Crowley. Let’s talk about how we were sleeping together for ten years-”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty? What kind of bullshit time system is Hell working on? Twenty years?”

“Twenty.”

“Jeez … Okay. So we’re sleeping together. Twenty years. The whole time I’m thinking, we’re working out our tensions from hunting humans. You’re asserting your dominance over me. We’re demons being demons. That kinda thing.

“So you’re really surprised that twenty years into this, when you tell me you have feelings, I’m a caught just a little bit off fucking guard?”

“I’m surprised I have to spell everything out for you.”

Dean turned away and looked out across the water, leaning on the railings.

It was true that when Crowley had wanted him to stop sleeping with other people, he’d had to say so explicitly before Dean had understood. But then they’d fallen into a routine of when they spent the night together. Dean hadn’t thought about so much as flirting with anyone else in a long time. And Crowley had fallen in love with him.

“Have we been dating this whole time and I just didn’t notice?”

“Finally he fucking gets it!” Crowley said, exasperated. “If I’d had so much as an inkling that you were going through our relationship with your eyes bloody closed, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

“I …”

Lost for words, a blush creeping up his cheeks, Dean turned to Crowley, turned back to the water. Turned back to Crowley. The expression on his face made Dean’s stomach pull in freshly painful ways.

“I fucked up,” he said at last.     

They held each other’s gaze for only seconds before they both had to look away.

“Are you still in love with me?”

It came out more frank than Dean intended, but it was burning not to ask.

“Yes.” No hesitation, maybe a little sadness tinging the answer. “Do you …?”

There was a spark of something in Crowley’s eyes, Dean thought. Perhaps not the fiery spark he’d had before, but softer.

He was reminded suddenly of the girl he’d killed in the alley before the Gabriel incident kicked off. How Crowley’s face had swum in front of his eyes as he tried not to think about him.

He thought about how achingly he’d anticipated their trysts after a hunt, how willingly he’d submitted to the man who had once been his enemy. How they all called him Prince consort, and how he’d worn his title with pride.

Then, unbidden, a word floated through the fog of memories.

Castiel.

Dean tried to meet Crowley’s eyes again, but couldn’t.

“I don’t know how I feel, Crowley. I don’t know.”

Crowley nodded with a humourless chuckle.

“You don’t have time to figure it out, love. So ‘I don’t know’ … that’s good enough for me.”

Dean smiled apologetically, and Crowley reached out for his hand.

And they were both blasted backwards. On their backs on the grass.

“What in the everloving fuck was that?” Crowley grumbled, staggering to his feet.

Dean, winded, took a moment to respond. Tight feeling in his chest.

“Gabriel!” he coughed out.

Sure enough, the archangel Gabriel stood out in the rapidly dispersing crowd, hands raised ready for a second attack. His eyes had the deep bruise of exhaustion, wide with panic. Jaw set in determination.

As Dean heaved himself to his feet, he wobbled, dizzy. He’d hit the back of his head when he went down. He was aware of Crowley shouting an order, but his head was swimming too much to catch it.

Gabriel called out in reply, then flew forward, brandishing an angel blade. Crowley struck out with a fist, and knocked him back with a spell.

Dean’s senses were coming back. He rushed forwards to defend his King, murmuring an incantation. Gabriel screamed in pain. He clutched his head and threw out a hand, and with it another blast spell. Right at Crowley.

Without thinking, Dean shoved him out of the way and took the blast direct to the shoulder.

He wasn’t really connected to any concept of pain when he watched his arm fly away from him, or when it landed in the water with a heavy plop. The pain wasn’t really his pain, his body not really his body. The grass not really brushing him as he sat down hard.

Crowley’s words were real though, the ones forming a spell to stem the blood flow coming from the flesh stump where his arm used to be.

Demons started to emerge from what was left of the crowd, hissing as they squared up to Gabriel.

Panting, Gabriel watched them forming a barrier between him and his opponents. Then, he fled, an empty space fizzing with the energy that had been there an instant before.

Crowley finished his spell and let out a shaky breath. Relieved, he hugged Dean to him. Dean returned the embrace with one arm, giving a wordless grunt when it hit him he didn’t have a second arm to use.

“If that attack had hit me full force, I’d have been killed,” whispered Crowley, his lips against Dean’s cheek.

“You’re welcome,” said Dean.

He resisted the urge to kiss Crowley as they pulled away. It was brought on by the adrenaline, surely.

“We have to move,” Crowley muttered, forcing the moment to pass. “If we don’t catch him now, we’re fucked.”

Dean simply nodded. He struggled to his feet as Crowley ordered the onlooking gaggle of demons to stand down.

“But for the love of all that is unholy, be alert. War is coming.”

Dean grabbed him by the waist to keep himself upright. Then they flew.

* * *

Dean couldn’t tell how much time had passed by the time they’d caught up with him. But what he was sure of was that he was exhausted. Crowley was exhausted. Gabriel must be exhausted.

As they landed, Crowley toppled over. He sat on the ground in a way that was uncharacteristically undignified. Dean clutched his shoulder-stump, as he staggered to avoid doing the same.

“He’s definitely nearby,” said Crowley. His voice came low and rough.

Dean could only nod. He couldn’t feel the coldness of the snow that lay in a thick spread at his feet, but the wetness that seeped through his shoes was uncomfortable.

He scanned the area while Crowley caught his breath. No sign of Gabriel.

Except … there! Footprints a little further up the field, leading into a gap between the trees that lined the border. He’d gone into the woods.

Approaching the footprints, he could see the edges of them had melted, but hadn’t frozen, which meant they were relatively fresh.

Crowley came up behind him and said as much. Without further talk passing between them, they started to follow the trail.

* * *

Sam kissed his sleeping son on the forehead then shut his bedroom door as quietly as he could. His wife, eyes wide, cheeks tinged red, whispered another frantic plea.

_Don’t go._

But Sam knew he had no choice. He’d closed the door. He had to be the one to open it again. And it was time. 

“I’ll be back soon, ok? Don’t worry. Gabriel can protect me. And I can protect myself.”

“That doesn’t stop me from being afraid, Sam.”

“I know.”

With that, he pulled his coat tight around him and opened the front door.

Gabriel was leaning against the wall of the cabin. Usually angels were unaffected by the cold, but he was shivering. He was exhausted, Sam thought, as his heavy eyes raised to look at him.

“You caused this mess, now you’re the only one who can fix it,” he’d said, brandishing an average-looking stone at Sam when he’d shown up at the door.

It was a key, he’d told him. A key that simply needed a spell said by the one who’d activated the lock, and then they could get the angels out and rid the world of the scourge of demons who’d been allowed to run rampant.  

Sam’s stomach twisted with guilt. Had he known that locking Heaven would be nothing more than an opportunity for the demons to seize …

“Ready?” said Gabriel, presenting Sam with the stone once again.

“As I’ll ever be,” replied Sam, taking the stone in one hand. “Do you think I’m powerful enough?”

“If you’re strong enough to close Heaven, you’re damn well strong enough to open it again.”

His tone said angry. His face said afraid. His posture said determined.

Sam nodded and followed him down the trail towards the clearing.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the two parties to cross paths, at a large clearing between the field and the cabin. Snow ankle deep, the only light coming from the full moon.

Dean held his arm-stump, and hung back behind Crowley who was slightly less worse-for-wear, having thrown off his glamour to display his true face to Gabriel.

Gabriel’s face, bathed in moonlight at the far end of the clearing, gave nothing away but his tiredness, which Dean was sure was mirrored on both himself and Crowley.

“This is it,” Dean whispered through gritted teeth.   

“This is it,” agreed Crowley.

He took a deep steadying breath and squared himself, watching Gabriel walk slowly into the clearing.

And behind him, Dean saw, was Sam Winchester.

He barely felt Crowley’s hand grab his jacket where he’d lunged for Dean’s missing arm. Sam met him almost in the middle of the clearing. Both heaved with emotion.

“Don’t do this, Sam!”

“What am I supposed to do? Let the demons run the world unchecked?”

“You’re sentencing us to certain death. That, or you’re about to be blown to pieces.”

“And I’m supposed to care?”

“You wanted this!”

“This isn’t what I wanted!”

Facing each other, catching their breath, a silence crackling between them.

Dean could sense Crowley drawing closer behind him, slowly, deliberately, trying not to be threatening.

“Hello, Moose. Long time no see,” he said softly.

Sam didn’t even look at him.

“Now, I’m not usually one for peaceful negotiation, but I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Crowley tried.

“An agreement,” Sam scoffed. “You turn my brother into … this. You try to take over the planet with your demons. Killing thousands of people in the process. And you want a peaceful solution? What, a- a compromise? Are you insane?”

“Better than a war.”

“Then don’t start a war!”

“Sam, you started this when you locked Heaven up,” Dean interjected.

“Don’t you dare, Dean. We’ve had this fight ten times over. The angels were too dangerous-”

“A few of them. We had some on side, we could’ve-”

“It wasn’t worth the risk!”

“It was to me!”

“Only because you and Cas-”

“It wasn’t like that and you know it.”

“It sure looked that way, Dean.”

“Enough!”

The two of them twisted to look at Crowley.

“All you’re doing is buying him time to recover his energy,” said Crowley, raising a hand to gesture at Gabriel, who was still hanging back by the entrance of the clearing.

“Don’t you understand, Sam,” he continued, “that he’s brought you as a sacrifice?”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Say your spell. See what happens.”

The silence that fell was tangible. Dean could almost chew it. His shoulder twinged. The air crackled.

Then Gabriel threw a spell.

Dean danced out of the way and the blast narrowly missed Crowley. 

“Use the Key!” screamed Gabriel. Sam began to mutter into his hand, where he held the stone.   

All but bellowing his counter-spell, Dean jumped past Sam to get a clear shot at Gabriel.

The effect was stronger than he intended. Gabriel slumped to the floor, motionless, and quick as a flash, Dean was beside him, seizing the angel blade that had fallen from his grip. He stabbed him through the throat.

A noiseless flash. A pair of wings burned into the snow, which melted beneath the body.

Sam cried out wordlessly, stone dropping from his hand with a thud in the snow. Crowley was still, wings held aloft, hands in fists at his side. A smile spread across his face.

Thunder cracked suddenly overhead, piercing Dean’s chest as though it were inside him. The thudding of his heart, a hard drumbeat calling out the triumph of the kill, was all he could hear when it cleared.  

Everything went black. It took Dean a moment to realise he hadn’t gone blind, but that the moonlight had disappeared.

Then a flash of brilliant white, and for a second Dean felt he could see even beyond the visible to the cells in his own body, the particles in the snow, the throbbing aura of the forest.

A bird, watching from a tree, unmoved and unfeeling.

Without warning, Sam was on his back, hands reaching for his neck. Dean clawed at him, hindered by his missing arm, and by the stab of instinctive worry about hurting his brother.

The hands fell suddenly, with a gurgle from Sam, as he fell to the floor. Warmth spread over Dean’s back. He turned sharply.

There stood Crowley, clutching Sam Winchester’s heart in his hand, dripping with blood, looking every inch the King of Hell.

Dean felt the reverberation of the thunder in his chest before it sounded.

Crowley had just killed the man who had been his brother, who had thought it better to lock all the angels away rather than fight a few of them. Who had doomed them to this.

The thunder cracked. Dean stepped over the body of Sam Winchester and reached out. Crowley’s smile vanished as he let the heart drop into the snow.

Dean slipped his hand around his neck and kissed him.

It was a world-ending kiss. It held promises and apologies and goodbyes and is-this-the-ends. It lasted all of a few seconds, but to Dean it was all the years they’d spent holding back and giving in.

When it ended, Crowley rested his forehead against Dean’s and told him again that he loved him. Dean had to force himself not to say it back.

Thunder snapped the sky in two, for a third time.

Tension returned to Dean’s chest. He dropped his hand and twisted to look at the far end of the clearing.

An uncountable number of great, glowing beings stood as though waiting. As though they’d been there all along.

One split off from the group and started towards Dean, Crowley, the burnt figure of Gabriel, and the bloodied heap of Sam. A tugging in his abdomen compelled Dean to walk, to meet the angel in the middle of the clearing. Crowley followed a hair’s breadth behind.

The tug turned into a wave of nausea, a surge of adrenaline as Dean realised he recognised the glowing figure. He distantly heard Crowley give a low growl.

The world narrowed. Dean’s knees wobbled and it was all he could do the keep himself upright as the word slipped from his kiss-reddened lips.

“Castiel.”


	8. Chapter Seven - Princeps Infernum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven is opened, and Castiel is staring a demon in the face. A demon who used to be Dean Winchester.

Castiel stopped in his tracks when he realised who he was looking at. What he was looking at.

An unmistakable pair of green eyes, which intermittently flickered black. Two shining horns and a pair of pale, bloodied wings. Dean Winchester was a demon. A high-ranking one at that.

Castiel curled his hands into fists. Crowley was watching him warily from a short distance away, his face crumpled at the brow and the mouth. 

“Long time no see, angel boy,” Crowley called. 

“What did he do to you?” Castiel said softly, directing the question at Dean.

It took a moment before Dean responded. His lips worked as though he was trying to find the right words.

“Nothing I didn’t ask him to.”

More hostile than Castiel had expected. That stung. 

“You asked him to turn you into a demon?”

He could feel waves of tension rippling out from his brothers waiting at the end of the field. They wanted the battle to begin.

“He’s the Prince of Hell, thank you very much,” Crowley chimed in.

“And yeah, I asked for this,” said Dean. “I didn’t know how long I would have to wait to see you again. You were all that was left, after Sam ...”

“Sam? Where is he?” 

“He’s the one who caused all this,” said Dean, calmly. He turned to look at something behind him, up the field, mirrored by Crowley.

Suddenly Castiel noticed the bloody heap. 

“You killed him.”

“We’re demons, Cas, what were you expecting?”

“Not for much longer, love.” 

Dean’s expression changed quickly to one of confusion. Castiel was, quite frankly, lost. 

Crowley continued, “Dean, it’s time to uphold my end of the deal.”

“No.” 

The protest came quiet from Dean’s lips as his chest tightened.

“Yes.”

“I can’t … I can’t go back to being human after everything we’ve done. Everything I’ve done.”

“You have to.”

Crowley reached over to cup his cheek. Dean brushed him off.

“I can’t leave you now. I-”

He cut himself off, because Crowley’s eyes were on Cas now.

“Castiel. If I give him back to you, will you have him? Take him somewhere safe, away from the carnage this fight is about to wreak?”

The silence as Cas hesitated thumped like a beat in Dean’s head, right behind the eyes. After a moment, he closed the gap between himself and Dean and pierced him with bright blue eyes. As though he was looking for something.

“You’re still the same Dean I once knew. A new trauma, fresh memories to conquer, yes. You won’t have to do it alone. I’ll take you.”

Dean’s heart rose to his throat, hammering wildly. A smile started across his face, but he stopped it. Raising his hand, he stepped backwards, the gap opening again between him and Castiel.

“I can’t. I’m not who I used to be. Me and Crowley, we got a good thing going. And I know you’re about to slaughter us all, but it wouldn’t be right for me to turn my back on that now. To the bitter end, for better or worse, I asked for this. And I’ll die easier knowing the person I tried to live for - you - killed me with hate for me in his soul.”

Castiel dropped his eyes, mouth hanging open. He nodded slowly and began to turn away.

“You also asked for this,” said Crowley, grabbing Dean by the shoulder to anchor him.

When their lips touched, Dean drove his elbow into Crowley’s abdomen to push him away but it was too late. He gave in and leaned into the kiss, drinking in every last second it would take to drain him of his power. Their final kiss. It was electric and painful.

The tightness in Dean’s chest unravelled and a buzz he didn’t realise he could hear abated, leaving calm silence behind. 

Crowley moved his jaw to deepen the kiss. With a stab, Dean realised his cheeks were wet. 

They clung to each other until the kiss reached its natural end. Forehead resting against forehead. Dean wiped the blood that was trickling from his ear.

“Take him somewhere safe,” Crowley said to Castiel. “With my blessing.”

And to Dean he said, “I loved you. Never forget that, my prince.”

With that he released Dean and sauntered over to the horde of demons waiting in the shadow of the forest, a smirk on his face. The only sign that anything out of the ordinary had gone down was the wetness around his eyes. 

And the fact that, to Dean, he looked like a human. No more broken horns, no more luminous skin. No more boney wings rattling like a dying breath.

“Ready?” said Cas, somewhere behind Dean. Dean couldn’t bring himself to speak. He felt something press to the back of his neck, and warmth spreading from that spot. His vision blurred and shifted and suddenly-

“Cas? Where are we?”

His knees gave in at last and he sank back into a plush chair. 

“A cottage.”

“Ok, I get that, but where?”

“The countryside.”

“Cas-”

“England. For now. We’ll have to move again soon but this will be suitable for however long it takes you to recover.”

“Recover …”

“It’s a difficult transition from supernatural being to human. And you lost an arm. A loved one. A few loved ones,” Cas corrected himself.

Dean couldn’t bring himself to speak. 

And so he didn’t, for some days. Cas came and went as he needed, but always took a moment when he was around to check in. 

It had been almost two weeks when he finally said, “This is going to take some work.”

Cas smiled and dropped the book he was reading onto the coffee table.

“On both our parts,” he agreed. 

After making Dean a cup of coffee, he sat beside him on a soft old chair of his own.

Dean slurped the hot coffee.

“How was Heaven?”

Cas chuckled. “How was Hell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter as I just wanted to wrap up the story - and this was how it naturally played out for me. Thanks for your patience with uploads. I've enjoyed writing every word of this story, and your feedback has meant/means the world to me. If there's interest, I'd love to do some "missing scenes" between Dean and Crowley from this universe. ;)
> 
> But now - to the epilogue.


	9. Epilogue - Mr Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A winter's afternoon. Dean and Cas are making a routine visit. A shadow lurks.

Dean’s figure is stark against the snow, greying hair, straight back. Empty sleeve tied at one shoulder. The bright afternoon sun is taking the dullness out of the white ground, giving it a wet sheen. 

Cas takes his hand off the headstone at which they stand, and slips it into Dean’s. Their fingers intertwine. 

“Would you like some time alone with your brother?” he asks, softly.

“Yeah, I think me and Sam have got some stuff to talk about,” Dean replies. 

With a squeeze of Dean’s hand, Cas flies away. A crow lands nearby and watches, cocking its head as Dean begins to talk to the grave.

After saying what he needs to say, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a colourful ball of fabric - a Pokemon plush toy he bought … how long ago was it now?

He places it carefully at the base of the headstone. The crow gives a throaty squawk and alights. Dean whips round.

There in the shadow of a great tree stands a familiar silhouette. 

“Crowley?”

“Hello, love. Long time no see.”

Dean’s heart begins to race and he knows what he wants to say. Of all the times for the cat to have his tongue. 

They approach each other wordlessly, driven by something that neither could explain. Glancing around for Cas, Dean pauses, but Crowley closes the gap.

"Your Majesty ..."

He takes Dean’s face in his hands and Dean can’t help but gaze at his king. They both wet their lips and lean forward. A spark jumps as their noses touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Let me know what you think :D  
> Again, I can't thank you enough for the wonderful feedback you've been giving, and the warm reception this story received. It's been my baby since April and I can't believe its finally done!   
> Watch out for some oneshots and missing scenes from this universe, and let me know what you want to see. In the meantime, peace and love <3


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